


at the mercy of a love such as this

by BeesKnees



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, And You Get a Fanfic Trope!, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blink and You'll Miss It Andy x Quynh, Everyone Owns a Shop, M/M, Memory Loss, Squint and You'll See It Booker x Nile, TOG Mini Bang 2020, Yes Beta We Live Like Immortals, You Get a Fanfic Trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:27:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28508943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeesKnees/pseuds/BeesKnees
Summary: “It seems too easy, Mama,” Joe confesses one night, not long after he has learned that he and Nicky are soulmates.“Your love is strong, Yusuf,” his mother corrects softly, brushing his curls from his face. “That doesn't mean it will always be so easy.”___Nicky and Joe are the sons of two of the most powerful witching families to ever exist. At 16, they learn they're soulmates. But a month later, the entire di Genova family, including Nicky, is gone. It will take Joe another 15 years, and the return of a memoryless Nicky, to learn what happened that fateful night.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 48
Kudos: 437
Collections: The Old Guard Mini Bang 2020





	at the mercy of a love such as this

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Sara for being such a diligent and patient beta. I struggled quite a bit with this story, and she did such a wonderful job of being thorough and knowing when to press me to do a bit better.
> 
> And thank you to [ms-three](https://archiveofourown.org/users/3226629) for the absolutely gorgeous artwork that accompanies this story. I'm guessing it will bring the same warmth to your heart that it did to mine!

Their families’ rivalry begins as the best of them do: with a strong friendship. 

For as far back as anyone can remember, the al-Kaysani clan and the di Genova clan have been strong partners in magic. They craft wonders, magic beyond magic. The al-Kaysanis were the sun to the di Genovas' moon. 

Their families were both old enough that the stories about when they had met weren't exactly clear. One had come across the sea to the other, and they had married their magic together, creating something more powerful. 

They balanced one another; any major spell had to be cast with approval from both families. An al-Kaysani paid any sacrifice upfront when casting the magic. A di Genova took any blowback from the spell.

Their families have grown, stretching across the world. Some of them barely know their magical roots, just flickers of oddity. But Nicky and Joe are born into the center of these great families. They are born into the last hours of their families' alliance.

…

Nicky and Joe are 16 when they meet for the first time. 

Their mothers are both leaders of their covens, and Nicky and Joe have been raised on the stories of what their mothers have accomplished together.

The hurricane they’d stopped together – Nasira had spent years preparing for such an occurrence, traveling the world over to bottle strange waters and rare winds. She'd had nearly a full trunk with her when she'd traveled as close to the eye of the storm as she could. Carina had spent weeks coughing up water from her lungs, waking from water-logged dreams with clawing fingers.

They'd stopped forest fires, saved babies on the brink of death, preserved species from extinction, made predictions that had stopped leaders from ruining their countries, cured the deadliest of diseases. 

Nasira was always collecting ingredients and had an eye for spotting something with rare potential with unerring accuracy. Carina was an endless well of strength, unflinchingly riding through burns and disease and bleeding, memory loss and temporary blindness. 

They'd had families to match – five children each. 

Joe is the baby of his family. Nicky sits firmly in the middle of his. Joe has all sisters and is doted on accordingly. Nicky has mostly brothers with one older sister – the sibling right before him – and they are the two most often in cahoots. 

Nasira and Carina had occasionally traveled together, perhaps not as much as either would prefer, what with the pull of day-to-day responsibilities and children always underfoot. This was the first time that both their families would be together, retreating into the countryside, surrounded by lush green.

The di Genovas are early. The al-Kaysanis are late. 

Nicky has been in the forest for hours already by the time Joe arrives. He is on the outskirts of the trees, carrying ephemera: a flower he doesn't recognize, the cracked top of a bird's egg, stones smooth enough that they sing to him when he runs this thumb over the top. He is looking for his sister, Alessa, who last he knew was doing something far more practical – gathering firewood.

He steps out of the trees and back into the clearing where their cabins face each other from a respectable distance. Nicky can hear laughter as the al-Kaysanis tramp back and forth from their car, carrying bags full of clothes and pots and pans and games and whatever spell ingredients their mother has brought. It seems as if they've brought a houseful of things. Nicky spies a crate full of oranges and a mini herb garden and so many different balls that he thinks they could play every sport. It's a striking contrast to the spartan way that his family travels.

His mother is embracing a woman who can only be Nasira al-Kaysani. Carina is just a touch taller, a touch leaner, but otherwise, they exude an energy that could mark them as sisters. Nasira is absolutely beaming at Nicky’s mother, the two of them pressed close as they present their families to one another – those that they will leave their legacy of magic to.

Nicky's brothers have moved to help the al-Kaysanis finish unpacking, but, for the moment, Nicky is still watching. 

He hears the brightest laughter, and, like a sunburst, Joe steps out of the cabin. He is looking over his shoulder, smiling at something one of his sisters has said. Nicky's mouth goes dry. His flower trembles in his grasp. Joe is all warm brown skin, tousled curls falling nearly into his face. His eyes are soft liquid, so full of feeling that Nicky knows he could drown in them.

He feels awkward in his own skin suddenly, overly flushed, all that fresh air making him feel dizzy.  
“Aw, Nicky.” It's Alessa, at his side suddenly, grinning and quicksilver. She pinches Nicky's reddened cheek. 

“What a crush, my baby brother,” she teases. Nicky looks helplessly at her, so far gone that he can't even rise to the bait of her teasing. 

“At least wait to fall in love until you hear him speak,” Alessa laughs, although she has softened as well. Nicky is the dreamer child out of his family, the one they all protect even if he isn't the baby. He is adept when it comes to magic, yes, but his mother also worries the most for him, that he might just one day get swept away with his magic and no longer be Nicolò proper.

“Mama!” Alessa calls. She takes Nicky's hand and pulls him along. He spends the next few moments being introduced to Nasira al-Kaysani and then the al-Kaysani daughters. Joe is the last to come along. 

It is worse up close. His eyes are deeper than Nicky realized, his smile more brilliant. He smells of summer: fresh grass, lightning storms, and being sun drunk. He takes Nicky's hand without any hesitation, as if Nicky isn't acting half the fool. Nicky still has a stone in his hand, and it meets in their palms, warming there. Their magic sparks. It mingles in the stone, both of them able to feel the essence mixing. Joe inhales audibly, and Nicky's gaze drops. They both hold on.

They're unaware that their mothers are both watching them.

When they part, the stone returns to its place in Nicky's hand, but it is changed. The cool gray is dappled with silver and gold now. Joe laughs, delighted, when he sees it. 

“I'm Joe,” Joe says finally, as if a name could make any difference to what they already know.

“Nicky,” Nicky offers, somewhere at the crossroads of fate and shyness. 

…

Their families tangle with one another as if they've always been that way. They cook together and play games together and traipse through the woods together. There's a small pond a mile out from their cabins, and they spend a lot of time there during the hotter afternoons – perhaps with a little less clothing than would be ideal, but who could say? They hold bonfires in the evening.

Their mothers show them how to work magic together and the kids trade the smaller spells they know. 

The pull between Nicky and Joe never weakens. If anything, it gets stronger. They only sometimes sneak away together; they're good at indulging in one another even when they're surrounded by the chaotic energy of their siblings. 

They are teased ruthlessly over this. Joe, perhaps, takes it with a little less grace, and even his dear mother can be known to comment on his attachment to Nicky. Carina does try to warn Nicky's brothers off from teasing him _too much_ , if only because she has never seen her Nicky like this before and her middle child has a soft soul.

They take walks together in the woods and trade back and forth the oddities they find, flowers and feathers that they press into the pages of Joe's poetry books, the softest of mosses and the sharpest of leaves. They run their fingers over the bark of trees and try to describe the nuances of colors to one another. Soon, it's like Joe and Nicky speak a language unto themselves. They're scarcely separated for the rest of the stay, almost always seen holding hands, pillowed together during their nightly fires. They press their legs together while eating dinner.

“It seems too easy, Mama,” Joe confesses one night. 

“It's strong, Yusuf,” Nasira corrects softly, brushing his curls from his face. “That doesn't mean it will always be so easy.” 

On one of the swimming afternoons, Nicky and Joe break away from their siblings early, both a little sun-drunk and worn in the way that can only come from swimming for a while. Nicky is lightly sunburned, a constellation of freckles blooming across his shoulders and back that Joe is entranced by. He can't help but run his fingers over them as they walk, and Nicky keeps pausing to throw Joe's amused looks. 

“Come,” Joe says finally, unable to hide his smile. He draws Nicky against him so that he can kiss a freckle on Nicky's red shoulder and then work his way up to Nicky's mouth. Nicky is fighting a smile, chewing almost nervously at his own lower lip until Joe kisses him properly. 

Nicky turns in toward Joe's body, looping one of his arms around Joe's broad shoulders. Nicky can't deny that the pull Joe has on him is terrifying in its intensity. But Nicky is also helpless to try and fight it.

They kiss like that for a few moments, still charting each other, still patient and searching. 

From nearby, they hear a sharp cry. Nicky breaks the kiss, although he remains close to Joe, and looks over his shoulder.

“What was that?” he asks. 

“I don't know.”

They turn toward the sound, moving through the undergrowth until they find the source: a young fox kit, dragging one leg along. It yips and then growls pitifully at them when it sees them. Joe looks around. He lets his magic flow through the trees and the plants around them, trying to seek out where the kit's mother might be, but nothing around him senses another fox.

“Its leg is broken,” Nicky says, drawing Joe's attention back. Nicky has one hand on the baby's side and is making quiet crooning noises to it. It still looks up at them uncertainly but doesn't growl. 

“You can tell that much?” Joe asks. Nicky nods and holds out his other hand for Joe. Joe takes it and closes his eyes. He lets his magic funnel through Nicky and the small fox until reaching the animal's injured leg. Joe can feel the flare of pain, but he's not able to tell much more through the hurt.

“There,” Nicky says suddenly, squeezing his hand lightly. “There – focus on the bone in that spot. You feel where the break is?” Joe holds his breath as he feels Nicky's magic give his own a little nudge. He's never cast magic with anyone besides his mother before. There's such a striking intimacy to it that it brings tears to Joe's eyes.

“Yes,” he half gasps. “Yes, I feel it.”

He opens his eyes and looks down at where Nicky is kneeling, those blue-green eyes staring piercingly through him.

“We can fix it,” Nicky says. Joe nods. In most situations, he would run to his mother, but as soon as Nicky says the words, he believes it: they can fix this. 

Joe clears his throat and tries to think, to sort through what would be helpful for them in casting this spell.

“Tree roots,” he says, first, “for connectivity. Dandelions and...”

“Yarrow,” Nicky suggests.

“Yarrow,” Joe agrees, “for healing.” He considers bark for strength, but it seems as if the roots should bring some of that. The idea pulls at him until he finally says, “Stones. For strength.” It's not something he would usually use in his own spell working, find it a bit too unyielding and lifeless. But they've already worked in stone together, and it seems foolish to ignore that.

Nicky nods. He stays near the little fox, continuing to pet at it while Joe hurries to find their list of materials. They purposefully picked things that would be easy to find, so it doesn't take him long. When he comes back, the little fox actually seems to have relaxed underneath Nicky's touch.

Working together, softly, gently, they put the stones beneath the fox's broken leg, the roots atop it, and then wrap the flowers around it. They've never cast together before, but they move in the seamless way that their family always has. Nicky takes a half step back and Joe leans in, pressing both of his hands to the broken leg. He breathes in. His magic soaks into the flowers and the stones and the roots, gathering the powers they were chosen for. They seep into the little fox's leg, and Joe feels the bone shift underneath the fox's fur and skin, snapping back together. Nicky's magic is a whisper of presence in the back of his mind, guidance and a reserve, should he need it.

Joe breathes out, and the fox rights itself. It tests the leg for a moment, shakes itself, and then runs back into the forest. Joe lets out a delighted laugh. 

He's still kneeling on the ground when he hears the bones in Nicky's hand snap with the blowback. 

“Nicky!” Joe cries, turning. He had forgotten – hadn't thought through the blowback – 

“Shh,” Nicky says. “It's nothing. Look.” He holds out his hand for Joe to see, the bones already righting themselves there as well. “Little blowback.”

Still Nicky flinches. Joe jumps to his feet, apologies filling his mouth. He's about to reach for Nicky’s hand, as if there's something he can do, when he feels an answering pain on his left wrist. Joe winces and looks down at his own hand and then freezes. There, raised like a scar on the inside of his left wrist, is a small moon.

A soul mark.

Helplessly, Joe looks toward Nicky who holds his own left wrist out alongside Joe's, an answering sun along it. 

“It's not so surprising, is it?” Nicky asks softly, looking at Joe from underneath his eyelashes. 

“No,” Joe breathes. “I suppose it isn't.” 

Magic has a physical presence in so many ways, and this is just another way in which it displayed itself: it could show soulmates their match. Usually, it was through the first spell that a pair of witches cast together. Their magic had met with guidance and purpose and met the mirror of itself.

As Nasira would say, their magic was then kind enough to share that information with them. They have paired soul marks. They are soulmates. 

Gently, Nicky smooths his thumb over the moon on Joe’s skin, almost as if in wonder. Joe is still just looking at the sun, feeling almost too shy to touch the mark on Nicky’s skin. It’s just … so much. For Nicky to already wear something that encompasses everything that Joe feels about him, everything that Joe will ever feel about him. The sun looks so simple, so small, and yet, it’s so personal, telling anyone who knows to look that the universe made Nicolò di Genova and Yusuf al-Kaysani for each other. Unable to help himself, Joe feels tears rising in his eyes. 

“Oh,” Nicky breathes. Joe looks up to meet his gaze, but Nicky pushes forward once more. He cups Joe’s neck as he kisses him again, soft and yet urgent at the same time. 

Joe makes a sound that may be something close to a sob. He pulls Nicky close to him, bringing their bodies flush. He wraps one arm around Nicky’s shoulder, the other around his waist. Their kissing quickly turns from emotional to heated, almost frantic in their need to devour one another and be as close as they possibly can.

They break apart to gasp for air, and Joe buries his nose in the spot just behind Nicky’s ear, feeling almost drunk on everything Nicky. It’s the sensation of his soul singing and being answered by Nicky’s. He licks a hot stripe along Nicky’s neck, able to feel his pulse thrumming and taste the salt of Nicky’s sweat and the faint tang of pond water.

Nicky gasps. His fingers dig into Joe’s lower back. 

Wordlessly, they sink to the forest floor together, unaware of all the ways it likely has to be uncomfortable. There’s only the other, teaching one another an entirely new language of love.

…

They come back far later than the rest of their siblings, who already are ringing the campfire and downing their dinners. All things considered, they’re probably lucky that no one had stumbled right into them. 

They’re holding hands, which is par for the course by now, but Joe can’t keep the dopey grin off his face. To be fair, Nicky keeps smiling in this way that makes him bite at his lower lip, maybe something that wouldn’t be telling to most people, but is a beacon to his family. 

The siblings gear up to heckle them, but Nasira suddenly straightens at their presence and waves the rest of them to be quiet. She hurries over to Nicky and Joe, turning their wrists so she can see the sun and the moon that are marked on the insides of them. The smile that breaks across her face is radiant.

“There you are,” she says, touching first Joe’s face and then Nicky’s, “my boys.” She gathers them up in her arms, holding them tight. 

“Carina!” she calls, her voice infused with an infectious happiness. “Carina, come!” Nicky’s mother heads over, perhaps a little more slowly. Her smile is softer when she sees what has Nasira so excited. Her touch is slow as she brushes her fingertips over Joe’s moon and then Nicky’s sun.

“Nicolò,” Carina says, cupping her hand to Nicky’s cheek. 

The next week is one of the happiest of Joe’s life. When he looks back at that time later, he’ll wonder if he gives the past too much of a gleam, but some part of him knows that he doesn’t. There was a beautiful simplicity to that week, to loving Nicky and being loved while surrounded by the warmth of their family. He and Nicky learned a hundred different ways to love each other in that week, from a hidden kiss to a wayward touch to Nicky linking their pinkies together as they walked somewhere. Joe felt constantly drunk on the feeling of their magic working together. His own magic had always been strong, but he and Nicky exchanged their knowledge, prodding one another to see things from a new angle. They were astonishingly powerful together; Joe knew that even though they weren’t trying anything particularly complex. He knew that even though their mothers had practically re-written all the books on partnered magic. 

And there had been this exquisite bliss that permeated everything: the knowing that this was all his to keep. 

…

A week later and half a world away, Andromache of Scythia wakes out of a dead sleep. Quỳnh is already awake, standing in front of the window, and she turns when Andy sits up with a sharp gasp. 

They are the oldest of their kind, the mothers of all witches. No one else knows precisely how old, and Andy alone knows both of their ages. 

(If rumors are to be believed, Andy is the one who made the original pact to get humans a taste of magic. She is the source. She is the strongest, and her magic keeps her alive. Andy would be quick to answer and say that such rumors aren’t worth believing.)

Regardless of origins or truth, Andy and Quỳnh are powerful and they are old. Witches the world over defer to them in matters of the most importance.

And something important has happened this night.

“What was that?” Andy asks, throwing off the blankets. She feels a bit sick. The magic in the atmosphere has rancid blowback – powerful blowback. Something has gone wrong and with enough wrongness to disrupt the ether across the entire planet.

Quỳnh shakes her head. 

“The stirrings of it woke me,” Quỳnh answers. “The magic was strange from the start. I don’t know what spell could feel like that, but it just grew louder and sharper.” She looks idly at the map they keep of magical hotspots, the covens who dot the world they live in now. “From somewhere around here, I think,” she says, waving a hand. She pauses, presses a thumb to her lower lip.

“That’s nothing though,” she continues, glancing at Andy. “Not common ground for anyone.” 

Andy looks at the map. 

“The al-Kaysanis and di Genovas are there,” Andy says. “Vacation.” It’s hard to ignore whenever Carina di Genova and Nasira al-Kaysani come together. Andy will never confess to how impressed she’s been by the magic the two cast. 

Quỳnh’s expression shifts to one of alarm.

“They wouldn’t cast anything like this,” Quỳnh protests. And then: “Do you think someone attacked them?”

“I don’t know,” Andy admits. “We gotta get over there.”

Despite the travel, they arrive before any other witches or any members of the families. 

Andy steps through the trees to see three of the al-Kaysani children huddled together on the porch of a cabin. The area is still swollen with magic, but it’s started to dissipate. Whatever happened here was a one-time deal. Quỳnh heads to the kids, and Andy lets her. They’ll compare notes later. They observe magic in different ways: Andy’s always relied more on how things _feel_ whereas Quỳnh has more of a visual sense of magic.

Andy hikes over to where there had clearly been a second structure, the epicenter of the magic, so to say. The spell is scoured deep into the earth and will linger here for a long, long time, Andy thinks. This close, she recognizes the feel of Carina and Nasira’s magic. What she isn’t used to is the way they clash against one another. They fought, Andy realizes mutely. Carina di Genova and Nasira al-Kaysani fought. They fought over magic and with their magic, and the magic devoured them.

There are no physical remains, but Andy can feel the wisps of what’s left of them, part magic, part soul. 

Andy’s seen a lot in her day, but she can’t help but feel a little sick over this. She’s seen witches destroy other witches before, but this … this wasn’t exactly born of malice. And no one could have expected this from these two women. Their magic probably reached such devastating proportions _because_ they were so used to working with each other. 

There are other magical signatures left. They are less familiar to Andy, but, based on the scene, she knows they’re probably the di Genova children and the missing al-Kaysani daughter. All of them dead. The back of Andy’s throat turns sour.

She startles a little when a hand lands on her shoulder. It’s just Quỳnh and yet—

“Oh, Andromache,” Quỳnh breathes sadly. Her eyes are watering, and Andy knows that her own expression is somber, likely unreadable to anyone but the woman standing next to her.

“What do you see?” Andy asks, her voice rough. She’s unwilling to give into her grief yet. They have work to do, and then they have kids to get home to their remaining families. Only then will she be able to give into the senselessness of this all. 

Quỳnh shakes her head.

“It’s all severing magic,” she says quietly. “Everything here was done to break connections.” She hesitates and then gestures back to the children. “They’ve lost most of their magic.” Andy turns to look at them again. 

“Did they tell you what they saw?”

“Salima al-Kaysani knows the most, although Veeya al-Kaysani told me a little as well,” Quỳnh reports. “Their brother, Joe, was sick last night. He was running a fever and wouldn’t respond to any of the sisters, so they went to get their mother. When Nasira arrived, she took a look at him and went to get Carina. When they didn’t come back and Joe got worse, the oldest sister, Eila, went after their mother. Salima said that’s when the magic overtook the area. It knocked the three of them out, and they didn’t wake again until morning. She said she knew their own magic was different right away.”

“How is the son?” Andy asks.

“In shock, I think,” Quỳnh answers. “But otherwise, fine. The sisters said he can’t remember anything at all from last night.”

“So,” Andy says, unable to hide her frustration, “what? Two of the most connected witches on the planet just turned on each other for no apparent reason?” They’re missing some crucial piece, and Andy can already feel the truth slipping away from them. 

Nasira’s son was sick and she had gone to her best friend for help. How had things gone wrong so quickly? The magic soaked into the earth here had ill intent from the start. Was it possible that Carina had been the one to cause Joe to become sick? But why? What could one 16-year-old have done to cause Carina di Genova to turn on her oldest ally without any warning?

Andy huffs a sound near a growl. She heads over to where the three al-Kaysanis are huddled, all watching her with wide eyes.

“Where’s Nicky?” Joe says in barely a whisper. The sisters tense. 

“Carina’s son,” Quỳnh supplies over her shoulder. 

“Gone,” Andy says. She wishes there was an easier way to break this news, but there just isn’t. “They’re all gone.” 

“No,” Joe says. He keeps running his thumb over the inside of his wrist, and it takes Andy an extra moment to understand what she’s seeing: a soul mark that’s been broken. 

“Nicky and Joe were soulmates,” Andy concludes, looking to Salima for confirmation. When she nods, Andy glances at Quỳnh. Part of her is trying to see what Quỳnh makes of this new information. Part of her is thinking back to the time before she had found Quỳnh. She had spent so much of her long life alone too, and she can’t imagine being separated from Quỳnh ever again.

“Was anybody upset about that?” Andy asks. 

Salima startles.

“No, of course not,” she says adamantly. “With how long our families have been together? Everyone’s really happy. Nicky and Joe have been ridiculous this whole trip–” She’s close to hysterically rambling and only just manages to cut herself off, seeming to suddenly realize the situation again. There is no more present tense. There is no more Nicky-and-Joe.

Andy and Quỳnh deliver the al-Kaysanis to their father and remain at the campgrounds for an additional week, picking at the strings of remaining magic. They don’t find anything new.

For a long time afterward, images of that day stay with Andy. One magical family just gone, another badly broken. Two friends turned against each other with no discernible reason. One 16-year-old boy without his soulmate so quickly. There’s so much loss and grief tangled at the center of it. 

Over the years, Andy and Quỳnh will sometimes take it back out and run over the pieces, trying to figure out why the women had fought and if Nicky and Joe had played into it all. 

Time will wear on, though, and the questions will go unanswered. The al-Kaysanis will finish growing. The stories of Nasira and Carina will take on an odd warning quality. The magic they cast before that night will be forgotten. There will be only the rumors of their hatred toward one another, of rivalry, of spite, of jealousy. 

Andy and Quỳnh will warn the majority of the magical world off from bothering Joe and Salima and Veeya. Most will never know that Nicky di Genova and Yusuf al-Kaysani were soulmates at all.

It’ll be 15 years before Andy and Quỳnh are pulled back into the mystery, back to meet Joe again.

…

“What can I do for you, dear one?” Joe hums as he soothes the particularly stubborn plant in front of him. It’s a deceiving little thing. It should be growing easily and happily in its current environment; there’s plenty of light and Joe is ever dutiful in his watering.

But this little plant is stubborn, taking almost a sort of delight in purposefully not growing strong. It recaptures Joe’s attention time and time again. Joe tries to listen to it, but his little plant is also keen on playing coy. Joe hums again.

Joe al-Kaysani has worked hard at rebuilding his life. Most days, it is easy to say he is content. Some days, it’s even possible to say that he’s happy. He’s carved out something, even if it’s a far cry from what he had been expecting and dreaming of when he was 16. All of that had centered around Nicky, magic, and family, of course.

He’d taken what he’d had left of the latter two and made a new home. His family had always been close, but after their mother and oldest sister died, Salima, Veeya, and he had grown to be inseparable. They had all moved to the same city together and still have weekly dinners. Veeya’s little bit of magic lends itself to healing, so she is a paramedic. Salima’s inklings of magic help her anticipate the weather, but she forgets about the magic most of the time. She is married and has two young children now, and if there is any of the al-Kaysani magic latent in their veins, it hasn’t shown yet.

Joe is both disappointed and relieved by that in equal measure. He knows that Veeya and Salima feel the same. All of them survive just fine without the magic, but sometimes it is like opening one’s eyes and remembering that the color is gone.

Joe’s residual magic rests with plants of all kinds – trees, flowers, herbs. Stubborn little houseplants. When Veeya and Salima had offered to help him buy his own shop, there had been no question. He was overjoyed with his little space. The front is the actual shop area, but the sprawling back is the nursery where, in between wide windows, open benches, and dirt, Joe nurtures all sorts of living greenery. For a long time, this felt like the only way of connecting with any type of life.

The bell at the front of the shop rings.

“Joe!” comes the familiar voice.

“In the back, Nile,” Joe responds, placing his stubborn, mysterious plant back down on its shelf.

“We will finish this conversation later,” he warns the plant. He swears he can feel it preening.

“Are you talking to the plants again?” Nile asks, coming to stand in the doorway, looking distinctly unimpressed. Joe tuts at her. It’s a well-worn path between the two of them; Nile herself would probably be more amenable to chatting with the plants every now and then if she didn’t think Joe would catch her. As it is, she likes to pretend that he’s overly sentimental and a little off center. 

She might not be far off that mark, but it’s not because he talks to the plants.

Besides, there’s no denying that his business would have probably gone broke by now if it weren’t for her. Joe very much likes being amongst the sunshine and the dirt. He even likes chatting with people. He doesn’t do as well with the money side of things.

Luckily, Nile _is_ very good at that side of things and has managed to expand their business to include arrangements for weddings and funerals. She’s always actively seeking out business whereas Joe would be just fine with waiting for someone to wander into the shop so that he could introduce them to the herbs that they didn’t know they needed or a flower that held a certain attachment for that person.

She holds out a cup of coffee and a croissant for him. He accepts both gratefully, but isn’t quite able to hide his wince when he realizes the coffee is rather lukewarm.

“Yeah, I know,” Nile says dryly, never missing a beat when it comes to him. The nearest café to their neighborhood is still a ways away, which means that Nile doesn’t always have success with getting coffee here while still hot. Joe sighs. The croissant is good at least. 

“You’re in luck, though,” Nile comments. “Rumor has it that the open shop next to Booker just got rented out. Supposed to be a bakery.” 

“Sweet Nile,” Joe says through a mouthful of crumbs. “Don’t play with my heart so. If I am denied patisserie after this conversation, how can I ever look at you without weeping again?”

“By remembering that you’d be out of business by now otherwise,” Nile says. She’s pretending to be annoyed, but Joe can see the smile at the corner of her mouth. 

Joe allows a moment of pause.

“Does that mean that my coffee is actually cold because you were dallying with Monsieur Booker?” Joe can’t help but tease. He waits for Nile’s protests while relishing the flush of her cheeks. 

“Do you have those bouquets ready for the wedding or not?” Nile tries to change the subject..

“Of course,” Joe answers, taking another sip of his increasingly cold coffee. “And, ah!” He heads to retrieve a potted plant and presents it to Nile.

“What’s this?” she asks.

“A zee zee plant,” Joe informs her, “for Monsieur Booker.” His grin may be shit-eating but she takes the plant regardless.

…

A week later, Joe and Nile are camped outside of Booker’s shop. Ostensibly, Joe is there to collect some books that Booker has set aside for him. Usually Booker sets aside poetry for Joe but he’s chosen a rather archaic bit of medieval history this time for flavor. 

While inside, Joe checks in on the zee zee plant. They all play up how bad Booker is at taking care of things, but Joe can tell that the plant is doing rather well and is equally pleased to be taking care of Booker. Joe tells the plant that it’s doing a good job.

That done, Joe and Nile retreat outside while Booker pretends to be too busy to come out just yet. They pull out the small patio table and set it up on the sidewalk. In truth, they are waiting for the owner of the new bakery to show up. 

This is part of what Joe rather likes about Nile. She’s equally curious about their new neighbor but is also capable of playing it cool. So, they lounge in the afternoon sun and drink the weird beer that they found in Booker’s fridge. 

Booker pretends to be embarrassed by them. 

Which is quite easy for Booker who has already met the baker and refused to dish any information to either Nile or Joe. Booker should be lucky they aren’t actively trying to embarrass him, Joe thinks. 

Just as a van pulls up, though, Booker steps outside.

“Oh,” Joe says lightly, looking up at Booker. “Have you decided to join us, Sebastien?”

Booker ignores him.

“Hello, Nicky,” Booker greets the man stepping out of the van with a wave. 

It’s been years and Joe has met so many men who go by Nicholas or Nick or Nicky, and he still flinches every single time despite himself. He’s not even taken back to that summer anymore – it’s mostly a phantom pain. And yet. 

Joe has only started to swallow down the hurt and replace it with a smile when he sees the person waving back at Booker. He is arrested by a severe moment of vertigo, the world flipped around and upside down, time rewound and chewed through.

He’s never had anything but his memory from that summer. He doesn’t have any pictures of Nicky, just what he could recall. That piercing color of Nicky’s eyes and the way his mouth went a little crooked when he smiled. How his hair looked when it brushed his ears and the beauty mark that Joe had pressed so many teasing kisses to.

There’d been a while in his early 20s where he was afraid that he was that he would forget. He had already mourned that he would never see Nicky’s face again, but it had been something else to realize that his memory was fallible, that it would only get dimmer with age. For weeks, he’d drawn what he could remember: Nicky’s features outlined in acrylic and oil, pencil and charcoal, in drooping pages across his apartment. When he was finished, he’d taken a breath and felt as if he’d almost done something obscene. Then, he burned every sheet of paper.

Still, at the end of every summer, he draws Nicky’s face, to make sure that he remembers, and then he burns that new work too. It’s the only ritual he retains in honor of his lost soulmate. Neither of his sisters knows.

The point is, he’s spent a lot of time remembering what his Nicky looked like. He’s spent none at all wondering what he would have looked like if he had aged beyond 16.

But the moment he sees this man stepping onto the curb, Joe knows. It would be impossible not to recognize him. Joe’s heart seizes in his chest.

_Nicky._

His hair is longer than he was 16 and cut well enough that he looks tousled rather than shaggy like he had as a teenager. He has just a spattering of facial hair that threatens to hide that lovely beauty mark, but Joe knows to look for it. He’s grown into his high cheeks although his nose is still large enough that Joe would call it “classic” while the other di Genova siblings had all mourned their “beaky” features. 

He’s so fucking beautiful that Joe can almost feel tears gathering at the corner of his eyes.

Nicky’s gaze sweeps over him and Nile – and, oh! _Those eyes._

A jolt goes through Joe and he drops his beer. The glass shatters on impact with the concrete. 

Nicky’s attention sticks with him. Joe’s stomach curdles as their eyes meet, because something else becomes evident: Nicky doesn’t know him. He looks at Joe no differently than he does Nile or Booker.

Nile is saying his name over and over again, and Booker is muttering while he goes to sweep up the broken glass. But Joe can’t look away from Nicky, searching desperately for any sign that Nicky might recognize him. That sign never comes. Nicky just tilts his head a little, mouth curved with amusement at Joe’s peculiarity. 

Nile punches him in the arm. Joe startles. It almost hurts to be aware of his own skin, especially because his world just ended twice over: Physically, Nicky survived the impossible. Mentally, Nicky is still lost to him.

“Are you all right?” Nicky asks. His voice is still accented, only destroying Joe’s heart even more. (He’s taken back to those hot summer nights when they were curled up together and what Nicky’s voice would sound like when it sleepily formed his name.)

Joe makes a sound. He thinks he’s trying to string together words but even he doesn’t really know. 

“Jesus, Joe,” Nile says, looking at him over the top of her sunglasses. “ _Are_ you okay?”

He looks helplessly at her. She has no idea when it comes to most of his past. Even then, how could he say, _Look, Nile. This is my soulmate, the one who I’ve spent 15 years of my life mourning. To say my life was halved when he was gone was an understatement. Everything I knew, everything I was, so much of what I loved, went away when he did. I may be happy now, but everything has been a pale comparison since then, a perpetual longing for what had already gone._

Somehow, what he manages to say is, “Yes, yes. Shit, I’m sorry, Book.” He stands to try and help clean up his mess, but Booker is done already.

“This is Joe,” Booker says a bit dryly, formally introducing Joe to Nicky.

“I’m Joe,” Joe repeats, unable to help himself. He’s at eye level with Nicky now.

“Nicky,” Nicky answers, barely hiding a smile. He holds out his hand for Joe to shake, which Joe takes. He can’t help but look at the inside of Nicky’s wrist even though it’s his right. His eyes drop down a second later to Nicky’s left hand, but the inside of his wrist is hidden from Joe’s view. Joe feels his throat tighten again. He’s worn a cuff over his own faded soul mark since he was 18.

Joe isn’t sure if the handshake lasts an appropriate amount of time. All he knows is that Nicky eventually lets go, and his attention goes right back to Nile and Booker who are managing to converse like regular human beings.

Joe sinks back into his seat, only beginning to process. He tries not to stare at Nicky and knows he’s not succeeding. What the actual fuck is happening? 

Every bit of Joe’s being aches as he watches Nicky interact mundanely with Nile and Booker and then bid them all good-bye with a tiny wave that is so painfully _Nicky._ Joe waves back pathetically and watches as Nicky retreats to the bakery. 

“What the fuck, al-Kaysani?” Booker asks once Nicky is gone, his tone teasing.

“Shh,” Nile hushes him. “Joe’s having his first crush. Bring yourself back to being 13, Booker. The confusion of what’s happening in your pants and your heart.”

Booker nods sagely. 

They’re enjoying this. They’re enjoying it because they’ve both spent literal years wondering why Joe never seems to be attracted to anyone or date anyone or bring anyone home as far as they know. He’s too handsome and funny and smart to not have a partner, they both insist.

A year into their friendship, Booker had even gone so far to sit him down and have a chat about how it was okay that he was gay and that Booker supported him and didn’t want him to feel like there was any part of himself that he needed to hide from their friendship. It had been oddly touching.

Joe fumbles through the next few minutes with Nile and Booker before fleeing. He knows Nile is going to grill him about it later, but Joe just needs to get away for now. 

But once he’s in his apartment, Joe doesn’t know what to do with himself. His first instinct is always to call his sisters. 

They are the two people on this planet who would understand the magnitude of Nicky. But as he picks up his phone, something stops him. He doesn’t know what’s happening. He doesn’t think Salima or Veeya would either. But … as soon as he tells them, he’s giving something up. He’s suddenly afraid that if he tells anyone that Nicky is alive, someone will come and take Nicky away from him. 

His pulse flutters weakly. He knows he’s making the wrong decision to not call them. He doesn’t know _what_ he’s hiding, but he is hiding it all the same. Any good decision wouldn’t mean hiding it from his sisters.

This entire situation isn’t what he was promised. But, fuck, he will take the chance to see Nicky’s face just in passing, just every and now and then, even if Nicky doesn’t remember him. His heart feels pathetic at the thought. There had been no bodies after the magic had taken so much of Joe’s life, and he had spent so many nights wishing that maybe Nicky or his mama had survived somehow. He had tormented himself with imaginary choices between one or the other, knowing that it didn’t matter anyway.

He sets his phone down. He leaves it in his living room and goes back down to the shop and sits in the back room, with all of his plants, and lets himself feel the simplicity and complexity of all these living things around him.

…

Joe will never know how he manages this, but he doesn’t rush to the bakery the next day or even when it opens a week later. He thinks he deserves a lot of credit for that. 

Does he sneak peeks whenever he gets the chance? Absolutely. He’s only human. 

There’s something that feels almost safe about just watching Nicky from a distance. It’s as if all the messiness of the world has to be held at bay. Nicky can be safe in this new life he’s built for himself, untarnished by the trauma of what happened to them. And Joe watches closely to see if he can tell if Nicky is happy in this new life: if his laughter is real when the Italian grandmothers come in to chatter with him and if the way he contently sighs after drinking a coffee is true. Joe thinks it is. He hopes it is.

He makes it two weeks after the opening of the bakery before he allows himself to go inside. 

At the last minute, he plucks some lavender to take with him. 

The bakery is empty when Joe enters, and he almost loses his nerve. He hadn’t anticipated being _alone_ with Nicky. He’s trapped, though, because Nicky looks up as soon as he enters, making eye contact with him as if it’s not ending Joe’s entire world.

He knew he couldn’t be prepared for seeing Nicky again and, still, it’s too much. In a rush, he’s taken back to being 16, to watching Nicky step out of the forest. He can almost feel the way their stone had grown warm in between their palms. He had searched so goddamn hard for that stone after everything, scoured the entire area. He’d never found it.

He pauses for too long. The sprigs of lavender in his hand reassure him. 

“Hello,” Nicky says from across the counter. He has the scarcest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. 

“Hi,” Joe answers. His voice sounds even and he finishes walking over to the counter without any odd incident. He’s probably passing as a normal human being. 

“Joe, right?”

“You remembered,” Joe says, the words coming out playfully before he can stop them. His throat nearly closes up as soon as they do. He hadn’t meant to come here and flirt with Nicky -- but, skies above and oceans below, it still is easy. 

And he certainly hadn’t meant to say something that was so accidentally true and false at the same time. 

“That was pretty hard to forget,” Nicky answers. 

_You don’t know the half of it,_ Joe thinks. His heart is starting to pound in his ears again, palms gone a little sweaty. _This is a mistake_ , he thinks. He shouldn’t be here. Nicky can’t remember him. He’s just chasing after a different sort of ghost now. This beautiful man wears his soulmate’s face, but the boy Joe knew is gone all the same. He’s only torturing himself by coming here. And, yet, what torture to know that some shard of Nicky is still in this world. He _can’t_ simply let go. Joe can pretend he has a choice: but there’s only this, being beside Nicky in whatever way he can be, whether it brings around the utter destruction of his heart or not.

“I thought I’d try and redeem myself,” Joe says. “I own the plant shop down the street.”

Nicky nods. “Nile said.”

“Right,” Joe says. “Well, I brought some lavender for you. I thought you could bake with it if you’d like.” 

He’s about to start babbling about what else he has that Nicky could potentially bake with, but Nicky pulls back just a little, looking startled. Joe snaps his mouth shut.

“What?” 

Nicky holds up a finger, gesturing for him to wait, and retreats back toward where the kitchen area must be. Joe only has a moment to feel a rising tide of panic before Nicky returns. He’s brought back a small plate with a cupcake on top of it. He sets it down in front of Joe.

“Lemon and lavender,” Nicky supplies. “I’ve been working on getting it right all morning.” 

The lavender in Joe’s hand feels smug.

Nicky puts a fork on the side of the plate and nudges it closer to Joe. When Joe doesn’t move immediately, a flicker of doubt crosses Nicky’s face. The expression is likely too quick for most people to notice, but Joe does. 

Joe sets his bundle of fresh lavender down on the counter in exchange for the fork. Glancing at Nicky once more, he breaks off a piece of the cupcake and brings it to his mouth. 

It’s quite near perfect, and if Joe hadn’t been the one to just bring Nicky lavender through the door, he would say so. But standing there, he understands that it needs just a bit more. 

“Almost there,” Nicky says with a full smile this time when Joe looks at him once more. 

“No,” Joe protests. 

“No?” Nicky repeats. “It’s _not_ almost there?”

“ _No,_ ” Joe tries to say. “It’s good. I mean, yes, more lavender will help.” 

Nicky’s smiling. Joe goes weak at the knee at the same time that he realizes, incredulously, that Nicky is _enjoying_ flustering him. It’s so surreal. Joe is terribly aware of just how much he loves Nicky still and he wants to tell him all about the oddity of this moment. 

Instead, he eats another bite of cupcake and gets buttercream in his beard this time.

Perhaps luckily for Joe, someone comes in at that moment. Nicky straightens and goes to take care of business while Joe retreats a little ways away, taking his cupcake with him.

He watches Nicky move and talk and be this man who is half the most familiar person Joe has ever met and half stranger. Nicky is friendly with the customer but leans more on the side of polite. It makes something possessive rear up in Joe’s chest: _see, he’s mine. Even when he doesn’t remember everything that we are, he still feels it._ His jealousy speaks in counterpoint to that: he has no more claim to Nicky than anyone else who walks in the door.

He doesn’t know if Nicky – his soulmate, Nicky – is single.

His heart starts to tighten and hurt in his chest again, so he focuses on his cupcake. It’s good – really good despite Nicky’s proclamation that it lacks perfection. The flavors sing together neatly, working in a harmony that Joe can appreciate but is just adjacent to. He likes cooking and is a master when it comes to herbs, but he can get a little jumbled about any other ingredients. It really left him with no decision but to be a vegetarian.

He can’t help but wonder if, just maybe, there’s still a sliver of Nicky’s magic in there too. Maybe he’s forgotten Joe, but maybe he’s kept the same whisper of magic that Joe and his sisters have. Maybe it manifests itself in baking for Nicky.

Or maybe Joe is just desperately looking for any bit of hope he can get in this situation.

The woman finishes buying her cookies from Nicky and heads back out the door. If his life depended on it, Joe wouldn’t be able to say what she looked like.

Mutely, Joe steps back up to the counter and returns the plate and fork.

“Thanks,” Joe says. “I suppose I’ll get out of your way.”

“I’ll bring you some of the new batch, yes?” Nicky says. Joe is almost confused by this continued interest. Nicky’s been polite enough. He doesn’t really owe Joe anything else, not that he knows. But Joe’s heart is a needy, yearning thing, so he smiles and nods.

He gets himself out of the bakery and home and spends the rest of the day replaying every shred of their conversation, his chest full of worry and elation. He spends the next three days bubbling with nervous energy, waiting and wondering when Nicky might show up.

After the third day, he manages to talk himself down and tell himself that Nicky was probably just being polite.

Naturally, the next morning is when Nicky makes his appearance.

Joe is in the back, happily digging through pots of dirt, unconcerned with anything else when Nile calls his name. He barely brushes himself off, figuring that she’s going to ask him a question about one of the plants for a customer.

Instead, there’s Nicky. He’s in the middle of the store, looking and slowly making his way around the throngs of plants that cover every surface. Joe feels like he’s been punched in the gut, and he wonders if it’s always going to feel like that when he sees Nicky now.

“Here he is, Nicky,” Nile says. Her tone is businesslike. She shoots Joe the coyest of looks and then heads out of the room. He makes a note to try and embarrass her in front of Booker later.

Nicky turns and holds up a pastry box.

“The better batch,” Nicky says. He brings the box over, sets it down next to the cash register, and opens it so that Joe can take a look at the cupcakes. They look like utter perfection. Joe almost feels bad eating them.

“Please,” Nicky says, gesturing.

“Oh,” Joe says, looking down at his hands. He tries to wipe them once more on his jeans before picking up one of the cupcakes and taking a messy bite. Immediately, he can’t help but groan. It’s a light burst of complementary flavors, and Joe honestly can’t remember the last time he’d eaten something that played so well across his palette.

Only belated does he realize the noises he’s making. He opens his eyes, fully embarrassed again, but Nicky looks pleased.

“Yes, see,” Nicky says.

“These are amazing, Nicky.”

“Thank you,” Nicky answers.

Joe starts to close up the box and move it back to Nicky, figuring other cupcakes after gifts for other people.

“No,” Nicky says, sliding the box back toward him. “For you, please.”

Joe almost protests but then remembers that this is _Nicky._

“All right,” Joe says with a grin. “Thanks. I suppose I owe you a lot more lavender then.” He glances over his shoulder, back at the nursery, and then back at Nicky. “Do you want to see the rest?”  
Nicky nods. For the first time since Nicky has appeared, Joe feels a little more at ease. Something about the success of the cupcake has softened things between them and, in all honesty, there’s no place that Joe is more at home in than amongst his plants.

He can feel the way they perk with curiosity when Nicky enters the room – a new person who feels strangely like Joe. They greet him, although Joe has no idea if Nicky can feel them in such a way any longer.

Still, Nicky idly wanders the backroom with the same contented expression that he had entered the shop with, as if he belongs here because it’s speaking to some part of his soul. He’s slow in looking over each of the plants, tentatively touching his fingertips to a few of the leaves. He lingers in front of the lavender.

“This is lovely, Joe,” Nicky says. He looks back at Joe through the fronds of a hanging fern.

“Thanks,” Joe says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“Did you start this all on your own?” Nicky asks.

“No,” Joe admits. “I had a lot of help from my sisters.”

“You’re the baby, aren’t you?” Nicky teases. Joe nods, feeling again, that odd tremor of Nicky _knowing_ even when he doesn’t know.

“They wanted to make sure I had something I would be happy with,” Joe says. He had simply never been able to imagine himself settling down in an office job, and Salima and Veeya had never expected it of him either. To be fair, he would do the same for either one of them, but they had found their life paths a little more readily than Joe.

“Is this always what you wanted?” Nicky asks.

“I don’t know,” Joe admits. Even if his mother had lived and if Nicky had stayed, he thinks that he still would have ended up some place like this. Probably just with more magic and power.

“What about you?” Joe turns the tables. “Did you always want to open a bakery?”

“No,” Nicky laughs. “That’s just the thing for now, I suppose.” He pauses. “My mother died when I was a teenager and she made sure I was set to do what I wanted. She wanted me to go places and learn things. I spent most of my 20s traveling around Europe.”

“Oh,” Joe says faintly. “I’m sorry. You must miss her?” He’s digging a little for information because he doesn’t know what to make of the pieces that do fit into their story when so many things _don’t_.

“I don’t really remember her,” Nicky says with a shrug, but he doesn’t say anything else.

The talking turns away from their pasts as Nicky asks some questions about the plants and Joe shares the plethora of information that he has about each one. Nicky nods thoughtfully as Joe speaks.

Joe forgets that he’s supposed to be nervous and awkward around Nicky. He forgets about the complicated tangle that exists between them. For a few minutes, there’s just the ease of two people being together. Time passes quickly then.

Eventually, Nicky’s phone buzzes and he seems surprised when he sees the time.

“I should go,” Nicky says. “You shouldn’t have let me bother you for so long.”

“You brought me cupcakes,” Joe answers. “That entitles you to at _least_ three hours of bothering.”

Nicky laughs, and Joe swears the sound warms him all the way down to his toes. He feels like he’s been holding his breath for the last 15 years and only now is he remembering what oxygen feels like. He’s going to be ruined all over again. It’s going to hurt like hell to not keep Nicky the way he wants him, and Joe already knows he doesn’t care. 

Nicky’s laughter dissolves into a shy smile.

“Joe?” 

Joe looks at him, waiting for whatever question is coming next.

“Would you care to get coffee with me tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Joe answers automatically and without thought There will be plenty of time for thinking and fretting later. For now, there is only answering to the truest part of his soul.

Nicky’s shy smiles grow a little wider. There are more words after that, discussion of what time they’ll meet and where, and Joe only hears enough so that he’ll remember tomorrow. The rest of him is too alight. 

Somehow, they make their way out of Joe’s gardening area and back into the shop. Nicky says goodbye and Joe so nearly lets him go. The door is almost closed again and Nicky has already looked away from Joe and is focusing on the street ahead.

On impulse alone, Joe shoulders the door back open and catches Nicky’s wrist. 

“Do you believe in magic, Nico?” Joe asks, eyes searching Nicky’s face for any sign of resignation. 

Something almost like surprise flashes across Nicky’s face. It’s not quite that, but _almost._ Joe doesn’t know what the emotion is, doesn’t have words for it, and hasn’t seen it on Nicky’s face before. 

“That’s a rather intimate question to ask someone,” Nicky answers, low and warm. He pulls Joe’s hand gently from his wrist, raises it to his mouth, and presses a kiss to Joe’s palm. It sears through Joe entirely, wiping out any logical thought. Nicky smiles at him again in that quiet way of his that could go unnoticed by others but is a beacon to Joe. 

Nicky steps out onto the street and begins walking again, leaving Joe frozen to the spot. Nicky glances over his shoulder once at Joe, and Joe feels his heart answer in a fluttering beat.

…

To say things get out of hand would be to imply that Joe ever tried to keep them in hand. He doesn’t. He lets himself get wrapped up in Nicky all over again, knowing that some consequences will come sooner or later and willfully ignoring that fact. 

What does it matter? What price wouldn’t he pay for the weeks with Nicky he suddenly has again? What a gift it is to take Nicky out to dinner and go dancing afterward and hold Nicky when he’s warm and a little tipsy. And very handsy. He gets to watch Nicky when he’s concentrating on a new recipe, going from listing out ingredients to experimenting in his kitchen covered in a cloud of sugar, laced with the scent of sweetness. He is with Nicky for all of these everyday moments that they were denied, relearning who Nicky has become in their separated years. 

Nicky is scarce on some of the details and Joe figures that it’s because he doesn’t remember or the memories he does have are muddy. He never shares with Joe how he thinks his mother and siblings died, only that he went to live with an aunt after everything that happened. He makes it sound like his recovery took some time, although Joe also never knows what Nicky thinks he was recovering from. He was 18 by the time he started to regain his footing in life. He finished up his basic schooling in Italy and then went traversing the continent. 

Joe peppers in as much of his life as he can without revealing their former connection or their magical roots. Nothing he says, not about his family or his remaining sisters, ever seems to strike Nicky in any particularly noticeable way. 

The first few times that they spend the night together, Joe leaves on the cuff that hides his faded soulmark. 

They’re lazing in bed together on an early Saturday morning, both a little hungover, and Nicky is playing with his hand the first time he asks Joe why he wears it. Joe pauses and then takes the cuff off so that Nicky can see. 

Joe so rarely looks at his soulmark that the sight of it pierces him. Nicky must see his pain because he looks and moves to touch but then leaves his fingertips floating above Joe’s skin. 

“That’s an odd-looking tattoo,” Nicky murmurs. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” 

“It’s old,” Joe says, having to clear his throat to speak.

Nicky looks from his wrist and back to Joe’s face.

“It makes you sad,” Nicky surmises. The question is implied but unsaid so that Joe can ignore it if he wants to. 

“A memory of my first love,” Joe says like a confession. He couldn’t stop the hurt and sadness radiating off of him if he had to. 

“He broke your heart,” Nicky surmises, and he doesn’t say it lightly, even though, objectively, this should be something of a silly conversation. Who hasn’t had their heart broken at 16? But who still carries that hurt so tightly into their 30s?

“He did,” Joe says and nods. Nicky likely hadn’t meant to, but Joe’s heart had been broken all the same. It is still broken. This new time with Nicky is stitching it back together, but the strings can’t possibly hold.

“Poor Joe,” Nicky says. He places one broad palm against the side of Joe’s head and pulls him in for a kiss. 

Despite himself, he glances at the inside of Nicky’s left wrist. He had watched it so closely on their first few dates together. The sight of Nicky’s unmarred skin still makes him ache a little. No soul mark, faded or not.

Nicky pulls him in and Joe goes without hesitation, melting into the feel of Nicky. He leans into the paradox of it all, letting Nicky soothe the loss of himself away from Joe.

…

All things said and done, they make it a total of three months before everything blows up in Joe’s face.

Salima, Veeya, and he have dinner together at least once a month. In practice, they all see each other much more frequently, but they always set aside some time to make sure they are all together. This particular night, Joe hosts. Salima has brought her children and Nile attends as well. She gets along a little too well with his sisters for Joe’s comfort sometimes. 

So, perhaps, Joe should have seen this whole mess coming. He’s in the kitchen cleaning up the dishes when it happens.

“So,” Nile says. “When are you going to put Nicky through the boyfriend test?”

Joe closes his eyes. Nile has every right to assume that he’d have told Salima and Veeya about Nicky in copious detail. If Joe were dating any other person on the face of this planet, they would know.

The room grows distressingly quiet. 

“Nicky?” Veeya repeats, as if she’s never heard the name before.

“Joe’s boyfriend,” Nile supplies, but her voice has lost all its confidence. Joe can hear how uncomfortable she is and that she’s aware that she’s put her foot in something.

“Nicky _who_?” Salima asks, her voice incredibly high-pitched. 

Joe comes to stand in the doorway again, and Salima and Veeya both stare at him. There have to be so many men who go by the name “Nicky,” but at Joe’s expression and the quiet, they all know there is only _one_ Nicky.

Salima stands up. She passes her children, one after the other, to Nile.

“You’re going to eat your dessert in the hallway with Auntie Nile,” Salima says. Even they don’t complain, sensing that their mother is not to be trifled with right now. Nile looks over at Joe, baffled, perhaps expecting him to object. When he doesn’t, Nile takes the kids and a platter of chocolate chip cookies into the hallway of Joe’s apartment building.

When they’re gone, the apartment is deadly silent. Veeya is still sitting and Salima hasn’t thought to sit again. They both stare at Joe, and Joe tries to look back at the both of them.

Finally, it’s Salima who speaks.

“It’s him?” 

“Yes,” Joe answers, dry-mouthed.

“And you decided not to tell us?”

“Yes.”

“How long?” Veeya demands, her anger seeping into her words.

“Three months,” Joe says. He can’t seem to get out more information than what he needs to directly answer their questions. 

“How did he survive?” Salima asks at the same time that Veeya asks, “Why did they kill Mama and Eila?”

Veeya and Salima look at each other, almost baffled by not asking the same question. Joe understands. Everything had been so raw after they had come home without their mother, oldest sister, or most of their magic. But they had been on the same page with everything; they’d always had each other after that. This is the first time something has shaken the three of them up in such a way. They’re splintered.

“He doesn’t remember,” Joe supplies. “He doesn’t remember any of it. Not me, not the magic, nothing from before that night.”

That confession snaps Veeya’s and Salima’s attention back to him.

“Oh, Yusuf,” Salima breathes. 

Salima rounds the table and gathers him up in her arms as if he’s still small instead of nearly a foot taller than her now. She brings his face to her shoulder and strokes the back of his head even though she’s the one who starts crying. 

His sisters’ grief for him hangs heavy in the air, and Joe wants to dispute it. It’s better like this, can’t they see? It’s better than the nothingness, of knowing that any love he had left in the world was a pretense.

“I need him,” Joe pleads. He’s already pulling back so that he can see Salima’s face. “The impossibility of it all -- but he’s here. I don’t care if he can’t remember and we can’t work magic together anymore. I still love him. I’m always going to love him. There _never_ will be anybody else but him.”

“He’s not him anymore,” Salima says, pressing her hands to Joe’s face.

“He is,” Joe begs, and he’s surprised to find tears running down his cheeks. “I thought the same thing too, when I first saw him again. But even without all those memories, he’s still _Nicky._ ” He wants to give Salima a thousand examples of how he still sees the same 16-year-old boy, but his throat closes up, robbing him of any additional words.

Veeya gets up and holds him from behind, both of them trying to keep all the pieces of him together. 

“What can you do?” Joe asks, falling into his fear and desperation. “You can’t take me away and you can’t send him away.”

“Joe,” Veeya says gently.

“We’re going to tell Andromache,” Salima says. “And she’s going to be the one who is going to figure out what happened to him and what we’re all going to do next.”

It’s a perfectly reasonable plan and, yet, Joe breaks down sobbing between them, certain now that other people know, everything is over. 

…

“You’re not going to believe this,” Quỳnh says.

In Andromache’s very long life, that’s rarely true. But in this instance, it is. 

As they travel to meet the al-Kaysani family, Andy has no idea what to expect. Part of her thinks that it’s likely some kind of trick. Veeya al-Kaysani wonders if it’s not some sort of resurrection magic, but even that is beyond everything Andy has seen.

They sit with the al-Kaysani siblings and listen. The sisters do most of the talking, prompting Joe to methodically provide some details every now and then. Andy is still unsure what they’re working with. She tells the siblings as much. She needs to see Nicky to know. 

Together, their strange party heads to the bakery that Nicky di Genova owns. Andy and Quỳnh go to see Nicky in the little apartment over it while the al-Kaysanis wait downstairs. Joe is ashen. 

When Nicky answers the door, and Andy feels the complicated web of spells that still are bound to him, she understands. Quỳnh winces, so Andy knows that she does too. It is terrible and wondrous what has been done to him. Andy has never seen magic quite so strong, though there had never been any denying that Nasira and Carina were capable of awe-inspiring things. 

It’s almost too much for her and Quỳnh to undo, but only almost.

When they are finished with the person who was once Nicolò di Genova, Andy steels herself before heading down to the bakery where the remaining al-Kaysani children are. 

“It’s done,” Andy says. “His memories are back.” The sisters are standing tensely, almost blocking Joe from her view. He’s half bowed over the table, heavy with a weariness too much for his young age. 

“What happened?” Salima asks. 

“I have my theories,” Andy says. “But only Nicolò knows for sure.” She looks to Joe. “You should talk to him.”

He looks even more ashen at the idea, but he nods and then unsteadily gets to his feet. 

“We’ll be at the hotel,” Quỳnh says to Salima and Veeya, “if you’d like to talk more later.”

…

In front of Nicky’s apartment door, Joe feels sick. He presses his fingers to the wood of the door and tries not to think himself the world’s worst traitor for bringing the oldest witches of their kind to Nicky. He hadn’t known what they were going to do, because they hadn’t known what they were going to do, and, still, Joe had let this all happen. Hearing that Nicky is still alive and supposedly well has done nothing to quell his anxiety.

He opens the door slowly. 

Nicky is standing across the apartment, his back to Joe. He’s looking out the window with an almost unnatural stillness. Joe just stands there, not sure what he’s supposed to do now.

“You lied to me,” Nicky says faintly without turning around. 

“I did,” Joe says, just as quietly. He can’t apologize for it because he doesn’t mean it in his heart. 

When Nicky turns, it seems like he wants to be angry. But as soon as he sees Joe, so many emotions flash so quickly across his face that Joe can’t even begin to imagine where Nicky’s head is.

“I’m…” Nicky tries, holding a hand by his head. “ _Mischiato?_ ”

“I know, baby,” Joe says, his voice breaking. 

“You don’t know,” Nicky says sharply, stepping forward as if he might go to Joe, but then falls back once more. “You don’t know, Yusuf. It’s like…” He pauses, eyes closed, hand near his head again. “It’s like there are two of me trying to be one person. And we both love you, but both of us are broken by you, too.” He opens his eyes again. “I don’t know what to do with all of this, Joe.”

Joe goes to him, because he can’t not. He doesn’t know if Nicky is going to hit him or hold him, but Joe doesn’t care. He just knows that he can’t stand across a room watching while Nicky is in pain. As soon as he wraps his arms around Nicky, Nicky melts into him. He presses his face hard into the space between Joe’s neck and shoulder and starts crying. 

Joe rocks them both a little, one hand against the back of Nicky’s neck, the other rubbing up and down Nicky’s back. 

“I’m sorry,” Joe whispers. “I’m so sorry, Nicky.” He’s sorry for all the pain. He doesn’t know if that stands in contradiction to the fact that he doesn’t regret lying to Nicky, but there it is. Nicky’s grip tightens against the back of Joe’s shirt. 

They stay like that for a long time, until Nicky’s breathing starts to slow. He pulls back, some of his hair sticking to his face, skin still a blotchy red from crying. He inhales a bit sharply, as if caught off guard by the sight of Joe.

“I am sorry,” Joe says again, more steadily this time. “I just … I didn’t know what I was supposed to do when you just showed up here, and you didn’t remember me or anything else. It was probably selfish, but I just didn’t know how to let you go again. I couldn’t.” 

Nicky smiles sadly and strokes his fingertips down the side of Joe’s face.

“I am mad at you,” Nicky answers. “But it’ll pass. I know it was an impossible situation.” He doesn’t know what he would have done either, if he was on the opposite side of things. So, instead, he breathes in and leans his forehead against Joe’s, scarcely able to believe any of this. Joe’s hands drop to his hips and rest there.

Joe would be content to just stay there in that moment forever. Nothing is simple, but he feels terribly close to Nicky and comforted by the fact that he can give Nicky some comfort.

“They fought over us,” Nicky says abruptly, although his voice is soft. Joe opens his eyes without pulling back. All he can see is the color of Nicky’s eyes. 

Joe wishes that he had to ask what such a non sequitur meant. But he knows. Nicky is talking about _that_ night, about their mothers. Joe doesn’t press him, lets him set the pace as he tells the story of what transpired the night that threw both of their families’ lives off their axes. 

…

_On that last night, some part of Nasira al-Kaysani had known the moment she saw Joe. Her heart had denied it, but her head had already known. Joe was steeped in a magic that was terribly familiar and completely foreign. She knew who the magic came from. She couldn’t believe the spell she was feeling._

_All of her children were grown or nearly grown, but her daughters looked so young as they looked up at her with wide eyes, waiting and trusting that she would fix anything that was wrong with their baby brother._

_Leaving them behind had been one of the hardest things she had ever done. But she couldn’t help Joe there._

_She had hurried into the night, tracking the magic that threaded from her cabin to Carina’s. Her skin prickled with goosebumps as she came closer to the source of the magic. It felt like dredging through oil where she was used to finding a fresh spring. When she reached the door to the cabin, she could hear crying, several voices pleading in Italian._

_Even then, despite everything she felt and heard, she had trouble processing the sight in front of her when she stepped through the door. Such a strange, broken mirror of her own family right now._

_Carina stood in the middle of the makeshift living room, holding Nicky sharply by the left wrist. He was in tears, the skin under his eyes bruised purple and red. Alessa was behind Carina, shouting at her mother as she tried to tug her Carina away from her brother. The other di Genova brothers were ringing them, still trying to placate and find peace._

_They all froze when Nasira entered the room._

_“What are you doing?” Nasira cried out. That wasn’t really the question she wanted to ask. She knew what Carina was doing; what she didn’t understand was _why_. And she still desperately wanted to pretend that there could be a good reason._

_Nasira swooped across the room and tried to gather Nicky up and away from Carina, but Carina’s hand clasped all the tighter to Nicky’s wrist. He winced._

_“Mama, please!”_

_“Carina!” Nasira echoed. “You cannot unmake a soul bond!”_

_Nicky’s tears became more earnest, but everything else stilled as Carina and Nasira stared at each other. They had known one another for so long. No words were really needed for this conversation._

_Nasira let her magic touch the fringes of Carina’s, encouraging her to let the spellwork go. But Carina didn’t budge, not a moment. She held tight to the parts of the spell that she had already assembled, rebuffing Nasira’s attempt. And despite that, despite all the languages they could speak, wordless and not, Nasira had never understood her oldest friend less. She took half a halting step toward Carina._

_“Why?” she breathed._

_“You don’t know what it is,” Carina answered, “to be at the mercy of such a love.”_

_“Do I not?” Nasira said, her heart flaring with hurt and, yet, such love._

_“You don’t,” Carina answered with the same fierceness, meeting fire with fire. “You don’t know what it is to always be the one paying the toll, Nasira. Your family has never known. I would do anything for you. I have done everything for you, but I can’t watch Nicky do the same for Joe. He will give everything of himself away to and for Joe, and I won’t watch it.”_

_The allegation that_ her _Joe could be so selfish made Nasira furious. Her magic slipped beyond her control for a moment. It cracked against the atmosphere of Carina’s, and a visible flare hung in the air. Nasira ignored it. She tried to breathe through the miasma of her emotion, because getting hung up on what Joe was or wasn’t was a trap._

 _“Carina, it is their love to make of what they will!” Nasira shouted -- stars above, she was trying to be calm, but it wasn’t happening, not at all. “You can’t just take it from them -- even if the magic_ was _possible!”_

_She closed the last bit of distance between them and tried to pry Carina’s hand away from Nicky’s wrist. Their magic snapped at each other again, brighter and hotter. They had never worked against one another before._

_“I_ can _,” Carina insisted. Instead of physically fighting Nasira, she went back to work on her spell, which blanketed the surface of Nicky’s soul mark. Her hand still on Carina’s, Nasira did what she could to unweave the spell that her friend was feverishly making. Their magic knew each other too well. It meshed together and ate at each other at the same time. The di Genova children were crying again._

_The magic in between the two of them grew out of control quickly. It grew, searing and blinding, burning through Nasira until she couldn’t feel her hands anymore and she couldn’t see anything besides the light. Through the tangled mess of it, she tried to find Carina, to tell her that they _must_ stop, that it was something they could only undo if they worked together. But to the end, her friend kept feverishly scrabbling at the soul mark that was anchored inside Nicky, tethering him to Joe._

_The last thing that Nasira heard was the cry of her oldest daughter coming to find her, Eila crying for her to come back to them._

_The magic was too much and it took everything._

...

Joe and Nicky stand apart as Nicky finishes telling Joe what he now remembers. Neither of them knows what to say, caught up in the web of emotions and magic that their mothers wove so many years ago, so far reaching.

“What am I supposed to do with all this, Yusuf?” Nicky asks finally. 

“With all what?” Joe asks through a strained voice. He doesn’t know what Nicky means.

Nicky laughs wetly.

“With a love like this, Joe,” Nicky says, as if they answer should be obvious. “What are we supposed to do with a love like this?”

“Love each other,” Joe says, confused, because from his side of things, it’s obvious. But Nicky turns away from him, and Joe’s heart shudders.

“It’s too much, Joe,” Nicky says. “How can we expect to nurture such a thing that devoured and destroyed so much? It’s monstrous. How can you not be afraid that it’s not just going to ruin everything else too?”

“Our love, Nicky?” Joe echoes, stunned. “ _Our_ love?” He steps after Nicky, reaching for him and turning Nicky back to face him once more, because if this is going to be the end, there’s not a bit of himself he’s not going to put into telling Nicky how loved he is. 

“ _We_ didn’t make those decisions,” Joe says fiercely. “We didn’t do those things in the name of our love, Nicolò. Our love is not our families’ deaths or our lost magic or our mothers’ fears. Our love, Nicky, is the wonder that we were born here in this world at the same time, with the means to meet one another. Our love is the look you wore on your face the first time you saw me and the way I felt the first time we kissed. Even if I’m never to cast another spell again, my wonder at the state of my magic was made better by the spells I _did_ cast with you.” 

He laces his fingers with Nicky’s, and he’s so relieved that Nicky is looking at him. He’s still crying, but he’s not making Joe stop.

“Our love is that you came back to me when there’s nothing in this world that should have made it so,” Joe says, voice breaking. “It’s that I love you and I choose you even when there is no more magic in our souls pulling us together.” He raises Nicky’s left hand and presses a kiss to the bare skin there. “Our love is all the beauty I feel with you and all the things I want to build with you.”

“You make it sound so simple,” Nicky answers, voice barely audible. 

“It’s easy to love you,” Joe answers. “I just do. Nothing else we do might be. But that is.” 

“I love you too,” Nicky says, framing Joe’s face with his hands.

“Then stay with me,” Joe begs. “Be at home with me.”

Nicky smiles sadly, and Joe becomes achingly aware of the tears in his own eyes. 

“So at ease with the concept of forever,” Nicky murmurs.

“Not forever then,” Joe says. “Just tonight, Nicky. Be here with me and figure out tonight with me. And you can decide tomorrow what you want then. And that’s what we’ll do, all right? And if the day comes when you _know_ that you can’t do one more day, that’s when I’ll let you go. But, please, Nicolò, I’ve been waiting for you all this time.” 

He doesn’t know what causes Nicky to give. Suddenly, though, Nicky stops fretting, stops half pulling away from Joe. He pulls Joe in, one hand against the back of his neck and the other at his hip now. Nicky kisses him so hard that their teeth click together. Nicky devours him, and Joe submits right away. His hands scrabble across Nicky’s body, trying to pull them closer together, while tears track down Joe’s face.

Deftly, Nicky pushes Joe up against the wall, pinning him there while they continue to kiss and push flush against one another. Joe keeps saying Nicky’s name into his mouth, unable to help himself. Nicky manages to get a thigh wedged in between Joe’s legs. Joe makes room for him there, groaning. His fingers pull more insistently at the loops of Nicky’s jeans while he starts to grind down against Nicky’s legs. It’s utterly lacking finesse. But Joe is too keyed up for anything more. Nicky looks the same.

He pulls back for one agonizingly long second, hair mussed and half sticking to his face. His eyes are blown dark. The way he _looks_ at Joe. His expression holds all the marvel of when they had first met at 16 and all the carnal ways he’s known Joe in the last few weeks. 

Joe’s heart drums in his ears. He’s afraid that Nicky is going to pull away. 

He guides Nicky’s face slowly back to his own, and their kiss is gentler this time, more exploratory. Nicky’s lips part softly underneath the pressure of Joe’s. Joe licks his way inside of Nicky. They welcome each other back with this kiss, although nothing _quite_ loses its frenetic energy.

Gradually, Joe begins to rock his hips down against Nicky again, unable to help himself. In no time at all, he’s panting raggedly into Nicky’s mouth, hands dragging across Nicky’s broad shoulders and through that mussed hair. He’s afraid to look away from Nicky the entire time, as if Nicky might suddenly disappear from underneath his touch. 

They come together like that, messily tangled and too scared to pull apart and touch properly. When they’re done, they sink to the floor together, sticky and spent and exhausted, leaning up against one another. 

“Of course I’m with you, Yusuf,” Nicky murmurs. He presses a kiss just below Joe’s ear. “Where else can there be?”

Curled together, they rest like that on the floor, leaning into one another. 

…

“Camping?” Nile repeats, wrinkling her nose. “You’re taking the love of your life _camping_ for your one-year anniversary?”

It turns out that a year is long and not at all. Joe won’t say that it’s easy. But he will say that he and Nicky do fill it with a lot of love. 

“Yes,” Joe answers, steadfast. The idea has been critiqued enough that Joe is done defending it. His first mistake had been by mentioning it in passing to Veeya. She had called Salima, aghast, who had called Joe to ask if he intended to take Nicky to a cemetery for their two-year anniversary. 

He supposes why one might consider the concept morbid on the surface. But as Nicky and Joe have learned, there would be simply too many things to swear off if they avoided every bad memory. So, while Salima and Veeya worry that they will spend too much time thinking about their mothers’ last moments and the time that they, themselves, lost together, Joe knows it won’t be so. 

They will enjoy being encompassed by nature, by the unfamiliar plants and sleeping under the stars and listening to the hum of the forest around them. It’s simply another piece of their love that they are reclaiming.

Of course, Nile knows none of that.

“You’re going to have to deal with bugs,” Nile says, nonplussed. “Wake up with the sun. Sleep on the hard ground? No, thanks. Hard pass.”

“There’s a joke in there about things being hard,” Booker says, half into his water glass. Nile laughs.

“He didn’t even make a joke!” Joe protests, outraged that Nile would dare to be amused by such a weak attempt. Nile pats his hand condescendingly.

“Whatever,” she says. “Enjoy your camping.”

…

They do.

And, yes, Nile might be right that Joe does not appreciate getting up early, but Joe believes that he is more right, because there is something painfully perfect about holding Nicky’s hand as they walk through a forest and feel so at one with every living thing around them.

And what is not to love about Joe waking to find that Nicky has prepared coffee and pancakes?

“I love you, heart of my heart,” Joe murmurs sleepily, plastering himself against Nicky’s back.

Nicky snorts faintly.

“Heart of your nothing,” Nicky answers. “Your stomach loves me right now.”

“Many parts of my body love you, beloved,” Joe says coyly, winking at him. Nicky smiles despite himself, and Joe still melts at the sight. 

They sit as close together as they can, half huddled under a blanket, as they enjoy their breakfast. Once Nicky is done, Joe takes his hand and raises it to his mouth.

“So, my Nicolò,” Joe says, pressing a syrupy kiss to Nicky’s wrist to watch him wrinkle his nose. “Do you choose to love me today too?” This has become their morning ritual. Most days, this conversation is light and happens in passing. Sometimes, though, they desperately need to have it, a reminder that they’re on the same page and choosing to love one another every day. 

Some days, loving one another is hard. Some days it is Nicky cowering after a nightmare, skittish underneath Joe’s touch or Nicky crying over where his missing soulmark should be. Some days, there is more doubt than love. And some days there is mostly just the gaping hole of their mothers and siblings, of their lost magic and the destinies they were supposed to fill with it. 

But that’s only some days. 

Most days, their love means being together in their new home and walking one another to work. It’s Joe sweet-talking the plants for Nicky so that he can bake new things. It’s having dinner with Joe’s sisters or Nile and Booker. It’s Joe drawing a new soulmark to represent who they are today on Nicky’s wrist. It’s taking baths together, reading to one another, arguing over music, and dancing in the living room anyway. 

Most days, it’s curling up together in their bed, saying _I love you_ one more time so it’s the last thing the other hears before drifting off, and then holding tight.

Today is a good day, because Nicky smiles and there are no shadows in his eyes.

“Yes, Yusuf,” he answers, leaning forward to kiss Joe. 

They hike for a bit that day and when they come back to their camping spot, Nicky takes a nap. Joe pauses a moment to appreciate Nicky’s profile, the soft sound of his breathing. He slips away for a little bit, although he doesn’t go far. He gathers up a small bouquet of flowers. He ties everything together loosely with some twine and, at last moment, hangs a pretty little stone from the twine. 

It’s still a marvel to him that the first time they worked magic together was in something that was so unyielding with such permanence. As he runs his thumb over the stone, he still feels a phantom pain, that loss of all that could have been.

But the pain is fleeting as he heads back to Nicky, flowers in hand, each of them singing with their happiness to help Joe celebrate his love for Nicky. 

He places the bouquet near Nicky so it’s the first thing he sees when he wakes. 

When he does open his eyes, he smiles sleepily at the sight.

“And what do each of these mean in the language of flowers?” Nicky asks, his voice holding still just a hint of gravel.

“Ah,” Joe says. “This one is for, ‘I love you.’” He points to one flower and then moves to the next. “And this one is for, ‘I love you,’ and this one is for, ‘I love you more than I know what to do with today.’”

Nicky’s smile grows wider, perhaps a bit dopey.

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” Joe confirms with faux seriousness. “But this one!” He points to some dandelions he’s peppered in. “This is for all the magical things we make together, my darling.” 

And after that, there is only one thing to do: lean down and kiss Nicky.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
> \-- Short comments  
> \-- Long comments  
> \-- Questions  
> \-- “<3” as extra kudos  
> \-- Reader-reader interaction
> 
> This author replies to comments.
> 
> shout at me on [tumblr](https://kneesofthebee.tumblr.com)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art Masterpost: at the mercy of a love such as this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28474497) by [3226629](https://archiveofourown.org/users/3226629/pseuds/3226629)




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